


Whatever It Takes  (Snapshots from the Life of Kyle Riker)

by Penny_P



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 06:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20149090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P
Summary: An explanation of why Will Riker's father was so often missing from Will's life.





	1. Chapter 1

2337: Outside Chicago, North American Continent, Earth

It was nearly midnight when Kyle Riker reached his sister-in-law's home, but he knew from the lights inside that Ellen Forester was still up. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. If he had been able to slip in and get some sleep, he'd be better equipped for the confrontation that was about to occur. He had been traveling for eight days straight, buying or begging a berth on any ship heading the right direction and he was bone-weary. On the other hand, it was probably best to get this out of the way immediately.

Amazing, he thought. He hadn't believed in love at first sight until he met Betty. He hadn't believed in hatred at first sight until he met her sister. The antipathy between him and Ellen had been immediate and implacable.

She must have been watching for him, because she opened the door before he reached the porch. "So you finally made it," she said flatly.

"I got here as soon as I could." She stood in the doorway, blocking his way. "If you don't want me to come in, say so. Otherwise, I'd appreciate it if you'd move. I don't want to take too long."

She stepped aside, leaving him just enough room to get by. "Good God, Kyle, what is that stink?"

"Andorian sheep," he said shortly. "I was able to get commercial transports from Corvallis to Mynax IV, but the only ride I could get from there was an Andorian freighter bringing sheep to Earth. I've spent the last three nights in the cargo hold. I'm tired, Ellen and I'm dirty and I'm hungry. I want to get Will and go home."

Her eyes narrowed. "That's it? You're tired? What happened to, 'how was the funeral, Ellen?' or 'did she say anything before she died?'"

He wondered again how two sisters could have been so different as Ellen and Betty. Betty had been filled with laughter and sweetness and a zest for life. Ellen, nearly ten years older, seemed to believe that her reason for living was to make sure everyone around her felt as unhappy as she apparently did all the time. "Betty's dead," he said quietly. "I can't change that. I want my son."

She started to speak, then clamped her mouth shut. He watched with fascination as she visibly got control of her emotions. That's new, he thought. Ellen's never bothered to control herself around me before.

She wants something.

"Come into the kitchen first," she said. "I've got a fresh pot of coffee and I can make you a sandwich. There's something we need to talk about."

Oh, yes. She wants something.

"All right," he said, not giving anything away. He followed her into the kitchen and looked around. The room was large and homey, which surprised him. Ellen was usually so focused on her music that she paid little attention to niceties like decorating or cooking. "This is nice," he said. "I haven't been here before."

"No, you haven’t." She sounded grateful. "I moved in six months ago, just after you left. Betty helped me decorate."

He felt a tug at his heart. It looks like Betty. The copper pots. I wonder if Ellen knows the difference between the sauté pan and the saucier.

She gestured for him to sit on a stool at a breakfast bar, and she set a cup and saucer in front of him. "You take it black, right?"

"Thanks." The coffee was good, especially compared to the motor oil passing as a breakfast beverage on the Andorian freighter. "What do you want to talk about?"

She walked to the cooler and removed a platter. It held a variety of bread, meats and cheeses. For Ellen, this was a lot of work. Whatever she wants, she wants it badly.

As she set the platter in front of him, she said, "Will."

He constructed his sandwich without hesitation. "What about him?"

"I want him, Kyle."

"Like hell."

"He's been with me since the accident. We’ve really developed a bond. I think he'll be happy here with me."

Kyle stared at her. "No."

"Why not?" A little of the belligerent Ellen he knew crept into her tone.

"Because he's my son, not yours. That makes him my responsibility."

"Responsibility." She repeated it scornfully, as if it were a dirty word. "Is that how you think of him?"

Truthfully, yes, he thought. He hadn't wanted to start a family, but Betty had been very persuasive. 'I get so lonely when you're gone,' she'd said, those big eyes fixed on him. 'This way, I would always have a part of you with me.'

He'd never been able to refuse her anything, not marriage, not a child.

Dammit, Betty. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You weren't supposed to die. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Ellen was staring at him, waiting for an answer. "Yes, he's my responsibility. He's my son. Not yours. Mine, and Betty's."

Her mouth twisted into a sneer, and she drawled sarcastically. "Don't tell me you want him because he's your last link to poor, dead Betty."

Only the knowledge that she must be hurting as much as he kept him from hitting her. "I don't have to tell you anything. He's mine, and that's enough."

He expected outrage, he expected screams. Instead, she bit her lip and her eyes suddenly glistened with tears. "Kyle, I love that little boy. I really love him. You aren't on Earth more than a month or two out of the year. I can give him the home and the stability he needs."

If she had suddenly declared her undying love for him, he could not have been more surprised. Although Betty had always spoken affectionately of her big sister, in the six years Kyle had known her Ellen had been uninterested in much beyond her own comfort and interests. She had roused herself out of her music long enough to object to Betty's choice of career – marine zoologist – and choice of lover – Kyle. The choice of career meant Ellen lost a cook, housekeeper and business manager rolled into one and Kyle cost her any hope of regaining them. Her. Ellen had never been one to succumb to mere emotional attachments, and the fact that she seemed sincere about her attachment to Will caused him to hesitate just for a moment.

"I’m sorry," he said and he meant it. "I didn't want children, you know that. But things are different now. I owe it to Betty to take care of him. She wanted him to be raised in Alaska."

"You owed it to Betty to be on Earth." The bitterness in her voice was reflected in her face. "She died asking for you, did you know that? She kept saying, 'where's Kyle?' But no one knew. No one knew where you were."

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the images conjured by her words. He could see Betty, bleeding on the deck of the boat, asking for him. This was the 24th century, for God's sake. No one was supposed to die from an accident. Especially not Betty. Not Betty.

God, he felt so alone.

"I came as soon as I got the message," he said, opening his eyes. "I came as fast as I could."

Perhaps some of his pain showed, because Ellen suddenly softened. "Don't you see? What if something happens to Will while you're off-planet? Let me have him, Kyle. I'll raise him right."

Without thinking, his eyebrows shot up. "You'll raise him? You? Ellen, what the hell do you know about little boys?"

"Not much, I admit, but my friends from the orchestra will help, and-"

He snorted. "What will they teach him? How to modulate from G sharp to A minor? How to pick the perfect outfit for every occasion?"

"That is unfair and narrow-minded."

"You live in a world of concerts and teacups and delicate souls who wilt when anyone looks at them crosswise. You don't have the first idea how to raise a man."

She stared at him in speechless indignation. With her long jaw jutting forward and her eyes blazing with righteous indignation, she looked, he thought, remarkably like a mare he had once ridden up the backcountry. It had been early in the spring and she was just back from the winter feeding grounds and full of herself. He'd had to kick her back into shape.

I'm way too tired, he thought, if I’m comparing Ellen to a horse. But… she is narrow in the chest, thin in the flanks and she is stupid and stubborn. Yeah, she's like a horse.

Ellen found her voice again, and it pushed past clenched teeth. "You're wrong. I don't think your employer will be happy to find out that you were with a woman when you were supposed to be consulting with Starfleet."

His spine stiffened automatically, and it took all the discipline he had left to control his face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you think I’m stupid, Kyle? A woman was with you when I finally got through to you. It was the middle of the night on Corvallis. I doubt you were conducting a briefing on strategy."

"You're mistaken."

"No, I’m not. I have the recording. You were very clever, not going to visual until you thought she was out of sight. But she's there, just for a second." Ellen smiled triumphantly. "Shall I describe her? Human, lightish hair, wearing black leather. Black leather, Kyle."

He stood. "Leave it alone, Ellen. For your own good, I'm telling you – leave it alone."

"You can't threaten me," she sneered. "I always told Betty what you were up to, but she didn't believe me. If you try to take Will from me now, this will be in court and on the news vids by next week. I've got friends in the media and I promise you, Kyle, I will make your life a living Hell."

He couldn't help it; his mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. "And I promise you, Ellen, you don't know what Hell is. But if you cross me, you will." Without saying anything more, he turned and stalked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He glanced briefly at the doorway to what was obviously the master bedroom and continued down the hall. Despite her declarations of love, he doubted that Ellen would have a two-year-old in her boudoir.

He found Will asleep in the first room he checked. It looked like Ellen had moved everything to her house; the crib, the chest of drawers, even the bassinet were all there. Apart from a few stuffed animals, none of the toys were there, though. The miniature robot, the tiny speeder – the toys that said 'boy' just by their appearance – were conspicuously missing.

The toddler was sleeping on his stomach, his thumb firmly lodged in his mouth. Long dark eyelashes swept against cheeks of delicate pink, and his brown hair curled ever so slightly around his ears. Kyle tried to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat.

He looks more like Betty every time I see him.

He reached down and scooped the sleeping boy into his arms. Will stirred, but settled back to sleep quickly enough. Kyle grabbed a blanket and wrapped it as best he could around the child. When he turned, Ellen was blocking the doorway.

"No," she hissed, not raising her voice above a whisper. "You can't."

"I can and I am." Kyle used his shoulder to knock her out of his way. "Send the rest of his stuff back tomorrow."

"I'll fight you," Ellen said, following him down the stairs. "I'll fight you any way I can. I'll prove that you're an adulterous bastard in open court. I'll find out who she is and I'll drag you both through the mud."

At the bottom of the stairs he stopped and turned. She skidded to a halt two steps behind him. On a level surface, she was a few centimeters taller than he was; with the advantage of two steps, the difference between them was nearly a meter. But she was flustered and angry, and he was coldly calm. He did not speak until he was certain that she was looking at him, at his eyes. "Don't."

She froze, then the color drained from her face and she backed up a step.

"For your own good, don’t."

She only stared at him, apparently shocked into silence. Satisfied that he had made his point, he turned and left.

Before he was at the end of the walk, though, she had recovered and was in the doorway. "I'll fight you, Kyle Riker. I'll get him back. You'll be sorry."

He climbed into the transport, thankful that Will was still sleeping. He had no car seat or other conveyance for the boy, so he handed the child silently to Marguerite, waiting in the passenger seat.

"That took longer than you expected. You look upset."

"Yeah."

When he said nothing more for a moment, she said, "He's a darling little boy."

Kyle glanced over. Will looked almost angelic, which was ironic considering he was such a demanding ball of energy when he was awake. "He looks like his mother."

He reached for the comm system and punched in a series of numbers. In a moment, an automated voice said, "Channel secure."

"This is Riker. I need to speak with Ngyen."

After a gap of three seconds, the familiar voice responded. "Riker. How is your wife?"

"She died three days ago," he said, trying to force back the pain that statement caused.

"My condolences."

"I have to make some changes, Ngyen. I've got a son to raise. I can't accept off-planet assignments for quite a while."

"Ah. I feared this would be the case. Well, Section 31 does what it does for the sake of our families. We can provide you with analytical and Earthside projects while you do what must be done for yours."

"Thanks. It will probably be a while. He's only two now."

Marguerite turned her head and rubbed her cheek gently over Will's soft hair, her eyes on Kyle.

"Yes. Frankly, I can't picture you deskbound for long, Riker, but no matter. The Section will be waiting."

"Yeah." The future suddenly loomed before him like a prison sentence. But he owed it to Will to be certain he was raised right and that he learned how to take care of himself. That the universe is a damned unfair place. That the Federation is the best shot at living free in the galaxy and needs to be protected. "There's one problem."

"Oh?"

"My sister-in-law. She claims she saw Marguerite in my room when she contacted me."

"That is a problem."

"She thinks I was cheating on Betty." Marguerite rolled her eyes.

A dry chuckle. "How ironic."

"She says she has a recording of the conversation and she'll try to use publicly to get custody of Will. She threatened to introduce it publicly, and into court documents."

Marguerite stiffened beside him, and looked at him with concern. There was another long pause before the comm was active again. "You know we cannot allow that."

He saw the lights of Chicago ahead of him. "Yes. I know."  
"Very well. Don't worry about it. It will be taken care of. Are you returning to Alaska?"

"Yes. We're going through Union Station; you'll be able to reach me at the usual number in about an hour."

"Good night, Riker."

The communication ended. He looked over at Marguerite, whose face had become a flat, unreadable mask. Then he looked at Will. The boy's mouth was curved in a sweet smile. There's so much of Betty in him. I wonder if there's anything of me.

He brushed the back of one finger across his son's soft cheek. "You're going to be safe," he whispered. "Whatever it takes, you're going to be safe."  
***

2340: L'Esperance Hospital, Lille, France, European Continent, Earth

Doctors' offices made Kyle uncomfortable - even elegant, well-appointed offices in what was once a convent. There was something about them that reeked of intimidation and condescension, two things that Kyle did not respond to well. The fact that Dr. Jones-Day was late for their appointment only heightened his conviction that the ambiance was intentional.

He was pacing between the two ivy-green leather chairs and the matching sofa when the door finally opened. Dr. Porter Jones-Day was a portly, balding man who was carrying a stack of padds as he came in.

"My apologies, Mr. Riker," he said, as he set the padds down on the desk. "Rounds took longer than expected this morning."

"You wanted to talk to me about my sister-in-law."

Dr. Jones-Day did not seemed put off by his abrupt manner. "Yes. As I told you, Ms. Forester has emerged from her coma."

His head jerked up. "No, you didn't tell me that. You told me there had been a development. Are you telling me that Ellen is awake?"

"Yes. Ms. Forester has regained consciousness."

Kyle sat down, stunned. After three years, he had assumed that Ellen's condition was permanent. "I, uh, how? When?"

"The when is simple. She opened her eyes last night and asked the nurse for a glass of water. As you know, she has hovered near the brink of consciousness for several months, so we thought this was possible but I admit, she caught us all by surprise."

Ellen was awake.

He could finally find out what really happened.

"I want to see her."

"And you will, but there are some things I need to explain to you first." He picked up one of the padds from his stack. "Ms. Forester used cordrazine in her suicide attempt. Cordrazine is a notoriously tricky drug; it is almost impossible to predict what effect it will have on any given individual in even moderate overdoses, and your sister-in-law went well beyond moderate. It is something of a miracle that she has regained consciousness. It would be beyond a miracle if she were … unchanged."

Kyle's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Jones-Day sighed. "I mean that it appears she has experienced significant cognitive damage."

"How much?"

"It's too soon to be certain. There is unquestionably impairment to her memory. The very preliminary tests indicate that her reasoning skills are on par with an 8- to 10-year old. There may also be changes in her personality, but since we have no baseline for comparison, you will have to assist us with that evaluation."

He swallowed. "An 8-year old? You're saying that she has the mental ability of a child?"

"For now. It's too soon to say whether or not it's permanent."

He pressed a hand to his head and stood. "Oh, God. I never meant for this to happen."

"Mr. Riker?"

"My fault," he muttered.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Kyle recovered himself and turned back to the physician. "The suicide attempt was my fault. When my wife died, Ellen threatened to seek sole custody of my son. When I made it clear that not only would I would make her life miserable if she even tried, but I'd see to it that she was never even on the same continent as my boy again. She … apparently she couldn't handle it. I had no idea she was so attached to Will."

_I hope that's what it was. God, I hope she did this to herself. Betty, I swear I thought the Section would just stage a burglary and recover the vid record. I don't think they did this._

_I don't want to think they did this._

Jones-Day looked at him thoughtfully. "Tell me something, Mr. Riker. Was your sister-in-law a cheerful person?"

"Ellen? Cheerful? Not at all. She was one of those people who could look at a silver lining and find the cloud. I think she was unhappy most of her life."

"Interesting." He made a notation in the padd, then set it down again. "Would you like to see her now?"

"Yes."

The doctor escorted him, even though Kyle knew the way. He'd come to L'Esperance three times a year, ever since Ellen had been placed here. The corridors were as familiar to him as those of Starfleet Headquarters.

He hesitated at the door, and looked at Jones-Day uncertainly. The Doctor nodded his understanding and went in first. "Ellen," he said in an avuncular tone, "you have a visitor."

"I do?"

The childlike voice elicited goosebumps on Kyle's skin. It was the voice he remembered, but changed. He forced himself to go inside. "Hello, Ellen."

"Hello," she said, smiling without recognition. Three years of coma had left her muscles soft, so even though she had lost weight she had also lost the sharp angles and planes of her face. She looked like a little girl.

"Do you remember me? I'm Kyle. Kyle Riker."

Her eyes narrowed in concentration, then cleared. "No. I'm sorry, I'm having trouble remembering a lot of things."

"Kyle is your brother-in-law," the doctor told her. 

She smiled warmly. "Really? So you're my family."

He couldn't remember ever seeing her smile like that before. It transformed her; for the first time, he saw a resemblance to Betty. "Yes, Ellen. We're family."


	2. Chapter 2

2343: Palace of the Liege, Re'Naga City, Maladon, Beta Quadrant

Kyle glanced around the Audience Chamber in the Palace of the Liege of Maladon, careful not to betray his thoughts with his expression. The words "wretched excess" kept repeating themselves in his mind. Softly pastel banners and tapestries of silk, or some silk-like material, covered the walls. The pale pinks, ambers and tans mirrored the landscape beyond the balcony and ballooned and swayed with the gentle breeze. All the furniture was gilt and gleamed like burnished gold in the light of what he estimated to be 500 candles. There were no chairs; instead, they were arrayed on something like recliners that were soft and plump and covered with a material he didn't recognize. It was soft as velvet but not as heavy. The entire room was soft and decadent.

It made him acutely uncomfortable.

The position they were forced to assume on the recliners was ludicrous. In order to carry on a conversation, they each had to prop themselves on one elbow and lie on their sides. _At least I fit on the damn thing_, he thought. He looked over to Federation Envoy Harve Cammisar, whose legs dangled half a meter beyond the end of the recliner. On the other hand, Starfleet attaché Lt. Commander Ferrar looked completely at ease.

The Liege motioned to a servant to pour from a long, graceful bottle. "We shall sample the gift Mr. Riker brought us. What was it called again?"

"Fala nectar. It's made from flowers that grow on Betazed, one of worlds of the Federation. The flowers bloom only once every ten years and by tradition they must be harvested by hand when the moon is full to extract the nectar."

"How romantic," the Liege murmured. She waited while the servant took the first sip and then smiled. "The tasting is also a tradition. Poisoning is no longer in fashion, but once it was the most common reason for a change in government."

"You've nothing to fear from us," Cammisar assured her. "Our goal is to persuade you to grant the Federation access to a single moon."

The servant, apparently satisfied that the fala nectar was not immediately lethal, distributed glasses to the Liege and the others. The Liege sipped, then closed her eyes. "Bliss," she said softly. "Pure bliss. My compliments, Mr. Riker. You chose well."

He inclined his head. "I am gratified you like it."

She took another sip, then looked at him speculatively. "Why are you here?"

"We've come to petition for access to the moon of Maladon III."

"No," she said, looking amused. "I mean why are you, specifically, here, Mr. Riker? Envoy Cammisar, I understand. Lt. Commander Ferrar, I understand. But you are neither a diplomat nor a soldier. What is your role?"

He glanced at Cammisar, who nodded once. "I am a specialist in strategy, Liege. I have come to explain the strategic importance of the listening post we wish to establish to both Maladon and the Federation."

"And there are no such specialists in Starfleet?"

Ferrar answered. "Of course there are, Liege. But we felt that too many uniforms might convey the wrong impression. We aren't here to threaten you with military force."

The Liege studied Ferrar closely. "I believe you."

"Then," Cammisar began eagerly, "may we discuss the terms of access?"

"I do not need an expert in strategy to tell me of the importance of the listening post to the Federation. You wish to keep track of the Romulans, and from the moon of Maladon III your equipment can effectively monitor their border for ten parsecs. Twenty, if your next generation of communications equipment performs as predicted."

Riker felt his eyebrows lift. Her intelligence was better than they had realized; the capabilities of the prototype communications array was still considered top secret.

"You're well informed," Ferrar said.

The air of detachment that had clung to the Liege since their arrival vanished abruptly. With an almost imperceptible straightening of her shoulders, she suddenly seemed vital and focused. "Of course I am. My worlds exist on the border of a violent and unpredictable empire. Did you honestly think I would not seek out information about the enemies of that neighbor?"

"We are not enemies with the Romulans," Cammisar protested. "We have a truce."

"The Treaty of Algeron. Yes, I know. I also know that every time the Federation and the Empire have met, death ensued. First, Cheron, then Tomed."

"Then you understand the importance of an early warning," Cammisar pressed. "If we know soon enough that they are leaving their boundaries, we may be able to avert bloodshed. At the very least, we can set up defenses for your world."

She looked at him without responding, then drained her glass and signaled the servant for more. "Tell me, Envoy, do you have children?"

"No. I am not married."

"Lt. Commander? Mr. Riker?"

"I have a son," Riker said.

The Liege smiled. "Do you? How old is he?"

"Will is eight years old."

"And is he a good boy?"

Riker shrugged. "Most of the time. He's too smart for his own good sometimes, and he's fearless. That can get him into trouble."

"You love him, do you not?"

He glanced at Cammisar and Ferrar. This was not something he enjoyed discussing, but he clearly some kind of rapport was being developed and he had to pursue it. "Yes, Liege. I love him more than anything in my life."

"You would do anything you could to keep him safe."

Kyle looked down at the delicate crystal glass of fala nectar in his hand. Then he committed a breach of protocol by looking directly into the eyes of the Liege. "Yes. I would do anything I could. Whatever it takes."

She smiled softly. "Then perhaps you will understand this, Mr. Riker, and explain it to your people. As Liege, the people of the Maladon are my children. Every one of them. They depend on me to do what must be done to protect them, to nurture them, to save them from unnecessary harm. What you are asking me to do is to place my children directly between two great and opposing powers. If I give you your listening post and the Empire does look this way, it will not see a neutral neighbor. It will see an ally of its enemy. I cannot endanger my children in this way."

"Forgive me, Liege, but you endanger your children if you do not."

She blinked. Clearly she expected no rebuttal. "Explain this."

"If the Romulans cross your borders, they won't be coming to petition you. Romulans don't negotiate, they conquer. Without the support of the Federation, Maladon will fall, and will fall with bloodshed. As one parent to another, I ask you to reconsider."

Silence hung in the room for some time, long enough to become uncomfortable.

Then the Liege spoke. "I like you, Mr. Riker – what is your given name?"

"Kyle."

"Kyle. A strong name. Your heart is good, Kyle, but you do not live with the reality of Maladon. We are not a militaristic world. If the Romulans seek to annex us, we will consent without the need for bloodshed. We will survive, even if we must swear allegiance to Romulus. So you see, there is no strategic advantage for us to grant your request. The advantage belongs entirely to the Federation and you cannot offer enough to make it attractive to us."

Cammisar looked panicked. "But, Liege-"

"That is my decision, Envoy." The words echoed in the room, and Cammisar sank back, defeated.

"Very well," he said after a moment, rallying himself. "We will depart in the morning. I hope that you will welcome another envoy from the Federation in the future. Even though you didn't accept our proposal, the Federation still wishes to maintain friendly contact."

The Liege leaned back. The aura of detachment returned. "You are gracious in disappointment, Envoy. Let us talk a while of other things, so we may part as friends if not allies."

She turned her gaze to Ferrar. "Are you also from Earth, Lt. Commander Ferrar?"

Ferrar stretched languidly, her pale green eyes fixed on the ruler of Maladon. "Liege, if we are no longer conducting business, I would be honored if you would call me Marguerite."

Well after midnight local time, Kyle sat in a chair in his assigned guest suite and tried to read "Call of the Wild." Will had come home only a week before after seeing a holonovel based on the book and had pestered Kyle ever since to actually read it. Whenever he could, Kyle previewed Will's reading materials so he could be prepared for questions. This wasn't bad, not at all; he approved of stories that emphasized self-reliance and overcoming hardship. Still, he wondered if Will was up to it at the age of eight.

He was having trouble concentrating, though. It was probably a sign that he'd been out of the field too long. Waiting had never bothered him in the past. Well, not much.

At 1230 Marguerite entered without knocking. She was wearing a nearly transparent negligee that looked oddly askew, as if she had thrown it on without thinking. For a moment, she leaned back against the closed door, palms pressed against it and back arched. In that position her neck seemed long and graceful and her breasts, impressive under any circumstances, thrust forward. She closed her eyes. "Oh, God, Kyle," she said in a throaty voice that was little more than a whisper.

He closed the book but did not rise, knowing full well what was about to happen.

She opened her eyes, looked at him with panic of a doe that suddenly realizes she is facing an enemy, and gagged. Hand over her mouth, she fled to the bathroom.

The door didn't shut tightly behind her and sounds of retching reached him. This was her usual reaction and he stifled the impulse to help her; she would only resent it. As long as he didn't acknowledge her weakness, she could pretend it was still her secret.

After a bit, the sounds slowed, then stopped. "Where's the mouthwash?" she called.

"The blue bottle on the counter. Use a lot of it. It will neutralize any gas that's lingering."

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on kissing you."

"Easy for you to say. You didn't drink the fala nectar. I prefer not to take any chances."

When she emerged, she was pale but composed. "There's been a terrible tragedy," she said calmly. "The Liege is dead."

He nodded, feeling a tinge of regret. He had rather liked the Liege and was sorry they had been forced to remove her. If she had only been reasonable, they would have stopped with the fala nectar, which was harmless by itself.

Marguerite must have seen the remorse in his eyes. "It was very quick," she added as she sat on the bed.

"I gather it worked as promised?"

She nodded. "Penrose is a genius. When I released the gas into her mouth and it hit the remnants of the fala nectar, blooey."

He winced. "Blooey" conjured up images he'd prefer to avoid. "It will look natural, won't it?"

"It's going to look like exactly what it was. The Liege suffered a fatal heart seizure while in the throes of ecstasy." She frowned slightly. "There was one complication. The body servant – Hara – heard the Liege cry out when her heart seized up. She came into the room, ready to kill me. I had to dispose of her as well."

Riker stared at her. "Shit."

"Tell me. When they find the bodies, it will appear as if Hara killed herself in remorse over the untimely death of her beloved Liege." She rubbed a hand against her jaw. "One thing Penrose can improve on is that hollow tooth. I practically had to break my jaw to release the gas."

She sat carelessly on his bed, seemingly unaware of the picture she presented in the outrageously transparent negligee, her strawberry blonde hair tumbling in wild waves to her shoulders, her long legs exposed to the thigh by a slit in the flimsy fabric. He shook his head. "You baffle me, Marguerite."

"I do?" She perked up, looking almost pleased. "In what way?"

"You're a beautiful woman, you're in a committed relationship, and you've got a terrific career ahead of you. And while you're quite good at what you do for the Section you obviously aren't completely comfortable with it. So I can't help but wonder, why do you do it?"

She went completely still, not moving so much as an eyelid. He had crossed the line, he realized, and ventured into territory that she had marked off-limits. He was about to retract the question when she said slowly, "I'll trade you, Kyle. You tell me why you started and I'll tell you about me. And don't try to pass off that stuff about your son. You were in the Section before you ever met your wife."

"Never mind." He realized he was still holding "Call of the Wild" and set it aside. "We'd better get to sleep."

He sunny smile returned. "You know, you're my favorite alibi."

"I'm honored." Shedding his robe, he pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed. As soon as the lights were out, Marguerite slid in beside him smelling of roses and mouthwash. This was also their pattern; Marguerite would spend the rest of the night with him, ostensibly to establish an alibi but also because she never liked to be alone after completing an assignment. She'd told him long ago that having a warm body beside her held the nightmares at bay.

She lay on her side, facing him but not touching him. When his eyes were accustomed to the dark, he could see that she was looking at him. He asked, "You're sure Marty doesn't mind this?"

"Nope. I've got Marty convinced that you are a gentleman."

For a fleeting instant he wondered what would happen if he tried to prove otherwise, but the impulse faded quickly. The most likely outcome would be that she would laugh in his face; even if he managed to seduce her, it would probably destroy their ability to work together. He rolled to his other side and closed his eyes.

He was just drifting to the edge of sleep when Marguerite spoke softly. "My father was an independent trader. We lived on the ship and visited a lot of non-Federation worlds. It was just our bad luck that we were on Bajor when the Cardassians annexed it. They took my father for questioning and we never saw him again. My mother and I were able to leave with a group of refugees. We eventually made it back to Earth."

There was a lot behind that last sentence, he was certain. It wasn't easy getting out of the refugee camps, and she undoubtedly had learned to be self-sufficient at an early age and experienced things no child should know. We have more in common than I realized.

A poke in his ribs reminded him that she was waiting for his response. Quietly, he said, "My father was at Tomed."

"Ah." Nothing more needed to be said. The last, violent confrontation with the Romulans was well known to anyone with any connection to Starfleet. "No wonder you wanted this assignment. I wondered what could pry you away from Earth for so long. You haven't left Will for more than a couple of days at a time before this."

"It's important."

She snuggled into her pillow and yawned luxuriously. "We make a good team, Kyle. You see all the alternatives, and try to make them work before I have to implement the final solution. No one else is as good. I wish you'd come back full time."

"I will. Eventually." He closed his eyes again, and fell asleep peacefully.

As they expected, they were awakened in the morning by the Palace Guard, who wanted to know their whereabouts during the night. The interrogation was brief and listless, though; apparently the Guard had not been overly fond of the late Liege.

Harve Cammisar summoned them to his quarters, and they found him looking deeply shaken. "I can't believe it. She's dead, just like that."

"The rumor is she had a tendency to indulge in unhealthy habits," Marguerite said. "That sort of thing can catch up with you."

"The question is, what happens to our mission?" Kyle asked. "Do we leave as scheduled or wait for the new Liege to make a decision?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I still can't believe it. Rogovan, the nephew we met two days ago – has been named the new Liege. He came to me this morning and said he has very different views on our proposal than his late, lamented aunt." Harve ran a harried hand through his thinning hair. "He wants us to remain for his Installation, and then we'll close the deal. We've got the listening post."

Marguerite grinned. "That's great news."

"Yes, but it's so incredible. Last night, we were leaving with our tail between our legs and this morning we're successful." He shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if there is such a thing as Fate."

Kyle shrugged. "Don't believe in it myself. I've always thought you have to make your own luck."  
***

  
2344: L'Esperance Hospital, Lille, France, European Continent, Earth

Kyle walked past the rose garden to the expansive lawn of L'Esperance. The residential section of the complex was newer than the Hospital itself and the grounds were maintained meticulously. On a warm, early summer day like this he knew where he would find Ellen without the help of the staff.

As expected, she had set up a folding chair under a large oak tree and was playing her flute. It was her favorite place on the grounds; from that vantage she could see down to the small stream that formed the boundary of the complex. He stopped before she saw him to listen as she played.

Her cognitive abilities remained impaired, but her talent was intact. The melody she played was somehow wistful and happy at the same time, and he didn't recognize it. When she finished, he began applauding.

"Kyle!" Her face lit up when she saw him. "You came early." She struggled to her feet and walked toward him. Her left foot dragged against the grass.

He returned her hug. "I have a business trip next week, and I didn't want you to think I'd miss a visit."

"I'm so glad. But I only have the one chair."

"That's all right. The grass will do for me. Sit down, and tell me about that song. I didn't recognize it."

She blushed. "I wrote it."

"It's very good. You should write it down."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I do. How are you doing, Ellen? Is everything all right?"

Her smile faded a little. "I suppose so."

"What's wrong?"

"Miss Yvonne is leaving."

It took a moment to remember that Miss Yvonne was one of the Education Specialists at the residence. "She's your math teacher, right? The pretty one with the red hair?"

Ellen nodded. "She's my favorite, because she never gets impatient no matter how many times I forget the multiplication tables. She's getting married and moving away. Is Mars far away, Kyle?"

"Not so very far, but far enough that she can't come teach you every day. I'm sorry, Ellen. I'm sure you'll like the new teacher, though."

"I s'pose." Then she brightened up. "I got a birthday present yesterday." Then her hand flew to her mouth. "I forgot. It was supposed to be a secret."

He felt his heart trip. No one came to visit Ellen any more; her friends from Chicago had stopped coming years ago, once they realized that she didn't remember them and would never improve. Certainly no one came in secret. "Well," he said slowly, "if it's a secret, don't tell me. But – maybe you could tell that butterfly. The butterfly won't tell anyone."

She giggled. "That's cheating."

"I won't tell if you won't."

Still giggling, she bent forward and spoke in the direction of a pale blue butterfly that was hovering near her chair. "Marguerite came, and she brought me a birthday present."

The trip in his heart became a pounding beat. He rose to his knees and grabbed her by the shoulders. Ellen stopped giggling and looked at him with sudden fear. "What did she give you, Ellen? Tell me what she gave you."

"She – she gave me this blouse. It's real silk. What's wrong, Kyle? Why are you angry?"

He took a deep breath. As far as he knew, the Section had nothing in the works involving fabrics other than some tracking devices. Since Ellen never left L'Esperance, it seemed unlikely they'd bother with that.

It was just a birthday present.

"I'm sorry, Ellen," he said, letting go of her. "It's lovely. I just don't like you taking gifts from strangers."

"That's all right," she said, stroking his cheek. "Marguerite isn't a stranger. She comes lots. She says she's your friend."

"Marguerite visits you often?"

"Yes, but I'm not supposed to tell. She said you might not understand. I told her you wouldn't mind but she made me promise anyway. I like her, Kyle. She's nice."

He almost laughed. Somehow he doubted that anyone had called Marguerite 'nice' since she was six years old. Why does she come here? Out of some kind of friendship for me?

Or does she feel as guilty as I do?

"I won't tell her you told me. We'll just pretend it's still a secret." He made himself smile. "I brought a birthday present for you, too. It's from Will and me."

"Where is it?" She twinkled with the same mixture of eagerness and greed that he had seen on Will's face on his last birthday.

"In your room."

"Can we go up now? I want to open it."

"If you want to."

She quickly broke down her flute and put it back in its case. When she stood, he took the chair and folded it. "I'll take this."

"You take such good care of me, Kyle."

"I always will, Ellen. I always will."


	3. Chapter 3

2346: Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, North American Continent, Earth

Kyle waited as Admiral Sarah Brennan, the head of Starfleet Intelligence, poured herself a glass of sparkling water from the wet bar in her office and returned to her desk. He had worked with her enough over the years to know that she would speak when she was good and ready, and no sooner.

"There's a sect on Betazed," she said when she was finally situated behind her desk, "that believes sound is never lost. Unimpeded, it travels through space throughout eternity. If met with an impediment, such as a wall, it becomes trapped and remains imprisoned until someone who knows how is able to free it. I do believe, Mr. Riker, that I would sell my soul to someone who knew how to free the sounds trapped in these walls. It would be worth the price to hear everything that has gone on in here."

"If you're thinking I'm the one, I'll have to disappoint you, Admiral."

She laughed. "I do enjoy working with you, Mr. Riker. No, the reason I asked you here today is because I felt I owed it to you. You deserve to know what was accomplished because of your warning about the Romulans."

He sat very still. She shouldn't know about that report and this could be some kind of trap. "I don't understand."

"I no longer take an active role in Section 31, but I still get reports. At least on the more significant developments."

"I'm sorry, Admiral, I'm at a loss."

"Caution is an admirable trait, so let me reassure you. Section 31 was created in this very office by its first occupant, Desmond Paris. Since then, only four of his successors, including myself, were even aware of its existence. I was an active operative until my predecessor retired and I took his place. Your contact, Ngyen, reported to me."

He still couldn't relax. "That's very interesting, ma'am."

She laughed again. "All right. We won't acknowledge that there is such a thing as Section 31. Let us hypothesize that you have prepared an analysis of Romulan movement over the past several years. Perhaps you did this for your own personal gratification. Let us also hypothesize that in preparing this analysis you had access to data that was classified as Secret by this department, including data from the Maladon listening post."

Her eyebrow cocked upwards, and he realized she wanted him to say something. "All right. Hypothetically speaking."

"And you concluded that the Romulans are in the early stages of a full-scale assault on the Klingon Empire."

He nodded. "That's fairly obvious."

"Perhaps not to everyone, but the experts in my Department agree with that conclusion. Where they disagreed was on the issue of where the assault will begin. They were convinced that the line of attack would be here." She turned the desktop monitor around to face him. It showed a line leading from Narendra III to Q'onoS.

"That's ridiculous. The Romulans would never develop a strategy that was that straightforward. It's not their nature."

"There are several specialists who disagreed with you. They are, I might add, all sitting in the Officers Club bar this very minute, licking their wounds." She swung the monitor around again. "At 0200 local time, the Romulans attacked Khitomer, just as you predicted."

Riker closed his eyes. There were more than 4,000 Klingon civilians on Khitomer, which had been ceded to Q'onoS as part of the Accords of 2293. Knowing the antipathy between the two rival empires, he doubted that any mercy was shown.

"Fortunately, I chose to credit your report," she went on. "I passed along the warning to my counterpart and offered assistance. It was declined, but we sent the USS Intrepid that direction just in case. It was first on the scene, and able to rescue survivors."

"How many?"

"Two. A boy and his nanny."

He leaned back. "Am I supposed to feel good about that?"

"Actually, yes. The fact that we gave the warning and had relief there so quickly has impressed the High Council greatly. The President received word two hours ago that the Chancellor would like to open negotiations for a formal alliance." She leaned forward. "Your contribution, and that of the Enterprise at Narendra III, are probably the two single things that averted war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. So yes, Mr. Riker, you should feel good about that."

Kyle stared, unwilling to quite believe what she had to say. It simply wasn't possible. He wasn't that important.

Sarah Brennan nodded. "Hard to take in, isn't it? You're a lot like your father, you know."

His stare turned to a goggle. "You knew him?"

"I knew both your parents. We were in the same class at the Academy. They were more than good officers, they were good people. We lost too many good people at Tomed."

"I don't remember," he managed to say.

"Of course not. You were what, three? Four?" She folded her arms across her chest. "Why did you quit the Academy?"

Obviously, she had reviewed his file thoroughly. "I don't tolerate fools, bullies or politicians."

"In the faculty or in your class?"

"Both."

This time her laughter was deep and loud, ringing off the walls. "Oh, my, you are so like your father. It is a pity you never knew him."

"I always thought so." He was becoming uncomfortable with the conversation.

Her smile faded. "You were raised by your mother's uncle. I gather he was strict."

Kyle looked her in the eye. "He was a sadistic son of a bitch and I left his house as soon as I could. But you know that already or you wouldn't bring it up."

"True. My apologies, Mr. Riker. Today you are a hero and you deserve all the accolades I can give you, because you won't get them outside of this office." She rose. "I would like to buy you a drink, sir. We can talk about your role in the Section another time."

He also stood. Although he was only of average height, he towered over the diminutive admiral. "My role with the Section is limited until my son is grown. I thought that was clear."

"Of course." She took his arm companionably. "But he's growing up fast, isn't he? A man of your ability shouldn't be closeted in the frozen wastes. We need you, Kyle."

"Thank you, Admiral." He wondered whether it had been a compliment or an order.

"Tell me about that son of yours," she said as they left her office. "I hear he already has ambitions to command a starship."

"Not just a starship. He intends to command the _Enterprise_."

She raised her brows again. "There is no _Enterprise_, sir."

"There will be. Starfleet won't let that name go unused for long. There will be another _Enterprise_, and Will will be on the command deck."

"You sound certain of that. He's only eleven."

"Eleven going on thirty. Just wait, Admiral. He's going to be one of the best."

2349: Valdez, Alaska, North American Continent, Earth

  
Kyle managed to open the door despite having his hands full with his luggage and that of his guest. "Will!"

His voice almost echoed in the house. There was no answer.

"Damn," he muttered. "I've been gone for a week. You'd think he'd be here."

Behind him, his guest asked dryly, "Is school over for the day?"

Kyle glanced at the antique analogue clock on the wall. "Oh. You're right."

Commander Marguerite Ferrar stepped into the main room and looked around appreciatively. The house had been constructed to resemble an A-frame log house, with huge trunks of Ponderosa pine serving as beams and posts. The great room on the first floor included the kitchen, eating area, and several chairs and sofas arranged around a huge fireplace. One wall was transparent aluminum, giving a magnificent view of Prince William Sound to every point in the room. "Nice," she murmured. "I understand why you made this your home base."

"Betty designed everything, but I picked the spot." She had been determined to study the whales and other marine life in the Sound, but once he saw it he felt he'd come home. She had been so enthusiastic about building this house.

He shook himself mentally. All these years, and he could still get lost reminiscing about her just at the mention of her name. "Your bedroom's upstairs," he said.

Marguerite had wandered across the room to look at a holo of Will, holding his Junior Champion trophy for parises squares. "This is your son?"

"That's him, last spring." He couldn't quite keep the pride out of his voice. "He was the youngest junior champion in the history of the region."

"He doesn't look much like you."

"No. He takes after his mother."

She turned to him, holding the framed picture in her hands. "Before he gets here, there's something we have to talk about."

He felt cold, as if the wind had suddenly blown into the room. "About Will?"

"Certain people are getting restless. They need you back in the field."

"I had a deal with Ngyen."

"But Ngyen's dead and Rustoff isn't as patient. He thinks that twelve years is long enough. So does Brennan. Things are happening out there, Kyle. We need you."

He almost laughed. "I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"You underestimate yourself. You're brilliant and you don't hesitate to do what needs to be done. There aren't many like you. We really do need you." She smiled. "And admit it. You miss it, don't you?"

"Maybe. Maybe. But Will's too young to be on his own, and we don't have any other family that can take of him. I need three more years."

"I understand, I really do." She laid a hand on his arm. "Look, Kyle, we've worked together a long time and in a strange sort of way I think we're friends. So I'm making a suggestion. Don't take three years." She looked him squarely in the eye, making her point. "They might decide they need to hurry you along."

For the first time in his adult life, he felt something close to panic. This was Marguerite; how many times had he seen her kill with no more afterthought than a wave of nausea? His hand closed over hers and gripped it tightly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She tried to pull away, but he held her, his eyes boring into hers. "Exactly what you think it does," she said at last.

"He's just a boy, goddammit." His voice was suddenly hoarse. "They wouldn't."

"Remember who we are, Kyle."

He stared at her for several seconds, then let her go and turned away. "You didn't have a quarrel with Marty, did you? This isn't just a chance for you to get away."

She didn't answer.

His mind began to race through the possibilities. There was no place to go. No place to hide. No one who could help. There was only one way to protect his son.

"I need a year. One more year. I can have him ready by then. He's a tough kid, I've seen to that. Tell Brennan just one more year."

"I think that will be acceptable." She smiled. "I'm glad, Kyle. Everything will be a lot easier now."

Something in her tone made him turn back and study her. Her shoulders had relaxed, and for the first time since they arrived in Alaska she seemed at ease. He had seen that change in body language many times over the years. Certain assignments always made her nervous and tense. She would relax only when she had finished that assignment or it was cancelled.

She wasn't sent just to warn me. She was sent to solve the problem, one way or the other.

"Marguerite," he said slowly, "thank you."

She made no pretense of misunderstanding. "You're welcome. He looks like a good kid."

"Yeah. He's real good kid."

***

2350: Valdez, Alaska

Kyle set the duffel on the floor and looked about the room that had been his office for the past fifteen years. The shelves looked bare without the pictures of Betty and Will that he had kept there, pictures that were now packed in his belongings. The room had lost all of its personality and was now just a room, generic and vanilla. He wondered how long it would be before Will moved his trophies to the empty shelves.

Time had finally caught up with him. Procrastination was no longer an option; he had to complete this one last task now if he was going to catch the transport to San Francisco. From there he would catch a ride to France to say goodbye to Ellen, and then on to Starbase 115.

He moved to the desk computer and sat in front of it, suddenly frozen. You're a coward, he thought for the first time in his life, and for the first time in his life, it was true. If he had any guts at all, he would have told Will last night, face to face. But the one thing that he knew would stop him from leaving would be the look of hurt in his son's eyes. Betty's eyes.

Physically, Will was a man. He'd been taller than Kyle for months and was still growing. That wasn't all; Kyle had learned the hard way, only weeks ago, that his son was sexually active. He'd come home early from a business trip to find Will and his girlfriend – Jenna? Jenny? Ginny? – in a … delicate … situation. Kyle had fought a battle between pride and chagrin the rest of the evening, and later tried to get through 'the talk.' Will had almost laughed in his face; 'the talk' was a year too late.

More than that, Will was self-sufficient. He was tough, Kyle had seen to that, and he knew how to take care of himself. He had all the skills he needed to be a success.

But emotionally – that was a different story. Emotionally, Will was still a boy in many ways. He was going to be hurt by Kyle's departure, and he would stay hurt for a long time before he became angry. But, eventually, he would be angry. Kyle was counting on it. Anger, he knew, could be a great motivator. Will would probably be an admiral before he was forty.

It was the hurt Kyle feared. Will had Betty's eyes, and he knew he would crumble if he had to look at them when he broke the news. "Computer," he said quickly. "Message for William T. Riker."

"Recording."

"Will, by the time you read this I will probably be at Jupiter station waiting for transport out of the Sol system. Starfleet called with an assignment I can't possibly turn down. I’m going to be gone for at least three years.

"You'll find a folder with certain court papers in your personal computer. The papers say you're an emancipated minor. That means you don't need a guardian. You can make your own decisions and look after yourself. You're grown man, and you don't need anyone looking over your shoulder. Julia will still come every week to clean for you and do the laundry, but it wouldn't hurt if you did some of that in between. 

"There's more than enough funds to see you through a couple of years. By then you'll be at Starfleet Academy and you won't have to worry about it.

"I don't suppose you'll understand why I'm doing this. I can only tell you that the Federation needs my help, and I'm going to give it. There are things about me you probably will never understand, but try to understand this: I help protect the Federation. Maybe I'm not in uniform, but what I do is important just the same. I've been waiting a long time for this chance, ever since your mother died. There was no one else I could leave you with. I know we didn't always get along, but I've done my best to be certain you learned how to take care of yourself. I wouldn't be leaving now if I didn't believe that you are ready to be on your own.

"There's one thing I have to ask you to do. Visit your Aunt Ellen every once in a while. She gets lonely, and she loves you. She loves you more than you know.

"I'm sure you'll be a fine Starfleet officer. You've got ability and you've got ambition. The next time I see you, you'll probably be in command of your own ship.

"Good luck, Will. I'm sorry I couldn't be a different father for you. I did the best I could."

He paused, took a deep breath. "Computer, end recording."

That was that. A chapter in his life finished, a chapter in his son's life beginning. God, this was hard. So much harder than he expected.

Thirteen years. He hoped it was enough. He hoped it would someday mean as much to Will as it had to him.

He pushed back from the desk, picked up the duffel, and left the house for the last time.


	4. Chapter 4

2253: Starbase Lambda, along the Tholian Border

Kyle had been to countless starbases in his time, putting up with the cramped spaces and antiquated equipment of Starbase 2 and enjoying the state-of-the-art entertainment available at Starbase Earhart. In all his experience, though, he had never encountered a Federation Starbase that was as dirty and depressing as Starbase Lambda.

The physician of the Bonestell had dropped a hint to that effect. He had enjoyed a brief liaison with Katherine Pulaski during his transport; they had been almost instantly attracted to one another and Kate Pulaski was not one to let opportunity pass by. She was good company as well as a delightful partner in bed - witty, intelligent and candid, which was a refreshing change after months of working with petty bureaucrats. When he asked her about Lambda station, she replied that perhaps Commander deWulf had been too long on the frontier. When Riker asked for further explanation, she changed the subject and he let it pass.

Her meaning became clear, though, the moment Kyle materialized on the station. The transporter technician greeted him by saying, "Okay. That worked."

Kyle blinked. From his perspective, the transport had been flawless. As he stepped off the pad, he heard a transmission from Bonestell. "Lambda station, is the transport complete?"

"Yeah, he's here," the technician replied.

There was a pause, then he heard the voice of the Captain of the Bonestell. "Good luck, Mr. Riker. Sorry we can't stay, but the Exeter will be back for you in 90 days."

"Thank you, Captain."

Riker looked expectantly at the technician. The young man seemed to have forgotten his presence as he fiddled with some of the transporter's controls. His hair was shaggy and his uniform was carried several old stains of various colors. A rip in the seam of his pants created a four centimeter gap above his knee.

"Do you have a name?" Kyle asked mildly.

"Me? I’m Vince Johnson."

"Well, Mr. Johnson, where I come from it is customary to escort Federation dignitaries to the base commander." It was closer to the truth to say that the base commander should have been there to meet him, but sometimes urgent matters intervened.

Johnson straightened as if a drill sergeant had called attention. "Yes, sir. My apologies. We don't get many visitors here."

"Just take me to Commander deWulf."

"Yes, sir."

It was not a long walk from the transporter room to the operations center of the Starbase, but it was long enough for Kyle to form a very distinct impression. The corridors should have gleamed but instead were covered with dust, and when he touched one bulkhead, he felt a thin film of something greasy. The personnel they passed were as slovenly in their dress as Johnson, and few bothered to acknowledge him as they passed.  
He had never seen a Starfleet base like this. Never.

By the time Johnson pointed him toward the door marked "Base Commander," Kyle had worked up a fine head of steam. He walked in without announcing himself and stalked to the desk where the C.O. sat. "What kind of shithole excuse for a base are you running, deWulf?"

"Ah. You would be the strategic attaché." deWulf leaned back in his chair. Like everyone else Kyle had seen, his uniform was dirty and the jacket opened carelessly. "Welcome to the Sacrificial Lamb."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Didn't anyone tell you? This is Starbase Sacrificial Lamb. This is where Starfleet sends its miscreants, misfits and mistakes in the hopes that the Tholians will solve all our problems and simply wipe us out." He smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Have you been sent to whip us into shape?"

"I have been sent," Kyle ground out, "to use this a base of operations to gather intelligence on the movement of the Tholians. The reports coming out of here have been next to useless for the past year."

deWulf was apparently impervious to insult. "Only 'next to useless?' We've been doing better than I thought."

Kyle made a concerted effort to control his temper. Reaching into his bag, he removed a data chip. "Here are my credentials and a description of my assignment. You are ordered to assist me in any way I request. For the moment, I shall require private quarters, secure access to both the station computer and the comm system, and access to all operations logs of the past 12 months. I will also need a shuttle and a pilot at my disposal. Any problems, Commander?"

"Just one. You're an arrogant son of a bitch, aren't you?

Kyle stared at him. "I try not to judge people too quickly, Commander, but at the moment I am struggling to understand why you weren't kicked out of Starfleet long ago."

"So am I, Mr. Riker. So am I." He hit a button on his desk. "Lt. Vargas, report to my office."

Almost immediately a young woman came in. Although she was wearing earrings that definitely were not regulation, at least her uniform was clean and worn properly. "Lieutenant, this is Mr. Kyle Riker, the special strategic attaché that Headquarters has been kind enough to send us. He's here to help us. Please show him to his quarters and see that he has anything else he requires."

Vargas nodded. "Yes, sir. If you'll come with me, Mr. Riker."

He glanced at deWulf, and the Commander waved casually. "Laura will take care of you. And welcome again to the Sacrificial Lamb."

Kyle said nothing, but turned on his heel and walked out beside Lt. Vargas. She waited until they were in the turbolift to break the silence. "I'm sorry about the Commander, sir. He's had a rough time lately."

"We've all had rough times, Lieutenant. Nothing justifies the attitudes I've seen here."

"With all due respect, Mr. Riker, you don't know what you're talking about." Her face flushed deeply. "This base is pretty low on Starfleet's list of priorities. There hasn't been a supply run in over six months. Our equipment is being held together with chewing gum and good thoughts. I'm well aware that my uniform is dirty but power usage is rationed, so we get to do laundry only once a week. Replicator access is rationed, too. Oh, but don't worry. As an important visiting guest, you have no limitations."  
She ran out of steam abruptly, but continued to glare at him.

"Well. I guess you put me in my place."

Her eyes seemed to grow as she realized the extent of her insubordination. "Sir, I shouldn't have-"

"Never apologize, Lieutenant, especially when you're right. I didn't know what the hell I was talking about." All the more reason deWulf should have been sending in detailed reports. The base would have received more attention if HQ believed it was vulnerable.

The lift doors opened and she led him to his quarters. "Please let me know if you need anything. And … welcome."

"To the Sacrificial Lamb. Thank you, Lieutenant."

In less than half an hour, Kyle was ready to begin work. The cabin was sufficient for his needs, but only barely, and it looked as if someone had gone to the effort to dust it before he arrived. After a quick shower he ordered a mug of minestrone from the replicator and sat down at the computer terminal.

The reports filed by deWulf over the past year had been increasingly cursory, lacking the kind of detail necessary to form a full picture. Most of Starfleet Intelligence was focused on the increasing threat from the Cardassians, so Admiral Brennan had engaged him to come out and see what was really happening along the Tholian border. His job was to review the raw data from the station records and come up with a realistic assessment of the threat posed by the Tholians. This was a straight Intelligence assignment, not a Section job, but he was considering suggesting that if Starfleet wasn't willing to replace deWulf, the Section should see to it.

Twelve hours, three sandwiches and two pots of coffee later, he was no longer considering it; he was definitely going to recommend it. Station personnel had either misinterpreted or overlooked vital signals that the Tholians were on the move. If Starfleet had received this information in a timely manner, the border would have been fortified long before this. deWulf was either completely incompetent, suicidal or a traitor.

He hit the control for the external communications system, but it did not respond. He tried it again without success. Impatiently, he switched to internal communications. "Riker to Vargas."

"Lt. Vargas here." She sounded sleepy, and he realized it was nearly 0200. Too bad.

"This is Riker. I thought I made it clear that I require access to a secure external communications channel."

"Sorry, sir. The subspace comm is down for repair."

"Then tell Commander deWulf I want to see him in his office. Now."

"Sir, Commander deWulf is in bed-"

"I don't care if he's screwing the Fabulous Traynor Triplets, I want to see him now."

"Yes, sir."

Furious, Kyle downloaded the conclusions he had drawn from the data and stalked out of the cabin. The few people he passed in corridors along the way took one look at his face and hurried past him without a word.

The operations center was manned with the skeletal staff of the night shift when he entered. One of them – an ensign, probably the O.D. on the watch, looked up in surprise. "Sir, you aren't supposed to be here without the Commander's permission."

"Stuff it, Ensign. What's the status on the subspace comm?"

Like most junior officers, she responded to the voice of authority. "Repairs will be finished in an hour."

"Make it less if you can." He turned and continued into the C.O.'s office.

deWulf was slow in arriving. With no hesitation whatsoever, Kyle sat at the desk and began searching its drawers. Two were empty; the last held exactly three items: a bottle of bourbon, a case containing the Medal of Valor and a holo of the Commander and a woman. There arms were around each other and they were smiling.

He activated the desk computer and in a few minutes had found the back door into the file marked "personal." There he found a copy of a certificate of divorce dated a few months earlier and some letters addressed to Sally deWulf and Sally Cheolas that had been returned, unopened.

"Wha' are you doing?"

At the sound of deWulf's slurred voice, Riker looked up. The Commander stood just inside the doorway of the office, swaying slightly. He word a bathrobe tied loosely over pajamas, and even at this distance he reeked of alcohol.

"I'm trying to determine if you are simply incompetent or if you are working for someone. Get in and sit down."

"You have no right-" deWulf mumbled as he staggered toward a chair.

"Shut up." He waved the data chip holding his conclusions. "I have just spent five hours analyzing the data you summarized for Starfleet. Why isn't this station on alert? Why aren't you battle ready? The Tholians could attack at any minute."

Laura Vargas had followed her commander into the office. She was, Kyle noted, in uniform, although her hair was pulled back into a barely regulation ponytail. "What do you mean?"

"It's been staring you in the face for the last two months. The Tholians are preparing for an attack. It could come at any time. Who the hell was interpreting this data?"

Vargas looked at her C.O. "Out Intelligence officer transferred out last year. The Commander took over until a replacement arrived."

"Ish nothing," deWulf said. "Ish the same thing they've been doing for years. They never attack."

"You idiot. Of course they attack. The one thing we know for certain is that Tholian ships attack in units of three. There are now three Tholian battleships within a parsec of here."

Vargas stared at him in shock.

"Jus' games. Thass all. They like to play games." He rubbed his face like it itched all over.

Riker looked at Vargas. "You're the Exec, right?" She nodded. "You can relieve him now or you can wait until the comm system is fixed and get confirmation from HQ but I'm not sure you can afford to wait that long."

She bit her lip, then squared her shoulders. "Commander deWulf, you are unfit for duty. I relieve you."

He struggled to his feet. "You can't do that."

Touching her commbadge, she said, "Dr. Preston, report to the Commander's office. Immediately."

"You're bluffing."

"No, sir, I am not." She turned to Kyle. "How much time do we have?"

"Not much."

She touched the commbadge again. "Ensign Yoshamura, initiate Yellow Alert."

"What?"

"Yellow alert, Ensign. Don't make me repeat myself."

"Yes, sir." The klaxon began flashing almost immediately.

The base CMO literally ran into the office. He was also a very young officer, probably fresh out of his residency, Kyle thought. "What's happening?"

"Doctor, I believe that Commander deWulf is unfit for duty and I require your confirmation in order to relieve him."

The young man's dark eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

"That is not an appropriate response, Doctor." Vargas snapped out the statement, and Kyle smiled slightly. "Please examine the Commander and record your findings for the record."

"You can't do thish. Don' lishen to them, Ken. I'm fine."

Preston looked at deWulf, not bothering to open his medical tricorder. "For the record, the Commander is bleary-eyed, suffering from slurred speech, impaired balance, impaired judgment. The odor of alcohol is strongly present. He is, in my best medical judgment, stinking drunk – again – and unfit for duty."

"Commander, you are relieved." Vargas nodded at Kyle, then went out to the Operations Center. "Yoshamura. Put this on the basewide channel."

When the Ensign nodded, she took a deep breath. "Attention all station personnel. As of –" she glanced at the chronometer – "0227 hours, Commander deWulf has been relieved of duty. I have assumed command of the station. Operations center alpha shift, report for duty. Lieutenant Alvarez is now acting Executive Officer. All personnel should prepare for imminent attack. I repeat, prepare for imminent attack. This is not a drill." Then she turned to Riker. "I'd appreciate it if you could remain in Ops, Mr. Riker. I could use your advice."

He nodded, impressed. Not every Starfleet officer knew when to ask for help and he admired those who could put their egos aside when necessary.

Vargas looked around Ops. "Our first priority is defense. I want maximum shield capacity and I want it now. I want a report on offensive weapon capability in ten minutes. And I want subspace comm now."

"Sorry, sir, but it's not possible. We've got at least an hour of work left."

"Too long. We need it now. Mr. Riker, can you brief me on the tactics of the Tholians?"

He nodded, and she took him to a computer terminal at one side of the Ops Center. Dr. Preston followed them over. "The Commander has passed out on the sofa," he whispered.

"Good," Vargas said. "Dr. Preston, you should be preparing for casualties."

"How many?"

She looked to Riker. "What's the status on your shields?" he asked.

"We haven't been above sixty percent efficiency in months. The Commander said that was good enough."

"Heavy casualties," Riker told the doctor. "Possibly sixty to seventy-five per cent of your complement."

"Lieutenant!" someone called from the Ops Center. "A ship is coming across the border. It's a warship and its weapons are hot."

"Red Alert! Call battlestations." She swallowed hard. "God help us."

Preston gripped her arm and squeezed once, then turned and ran out of Ops.

"Another warship has crossed the border."

Vargas ran to the commander's station. "I need more shield capacity."

"57% is all we've got."

"Here they come!"

"Another ship! There's three of them!"

Riker stood beside Vargas. Her console held the tactical data in one display and the station's internal data in another. He knew as soon as he saw it.

They weren't going to survive.

The first attack took out the shields. Vargas held steady, ordering weapons fire.

The second pass knocked out main power. The emergency power kicked in sluggishly.

The third pass hit the Ops Center. Several consoles erupted with flames, and thick black smoke made it impossible to see. Kyle could hear the screams, though. Then there was a cracking sound, the sound of seams and joints tearing apart, and Kyle had time for one final thought.

_Will._

The pain wouldn't leave him alone. He wanted to drift in the blackness but the pain wouldn't let him. The pain insisted that he wake up.

At first he couldn't figure out where he was. There was still enough smoke that it was hard to see, and even harder to breathe. When he coughed, his lungs flamed into agony. He tried to move, but realized his legs were pinned by something. He reached up with his left hand – the right one wasn't responding to commands – and almost immediately encountered something hard and smooth.

A strut, his mind told him.

He wasn't certain he understood.

He heard whimpering from someplace nearby. "Who – who is that?" His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper that echoed around his head.

No answer. Just the whimpering. Then someone else began to moan.

He tried to swallow, to wet his parched throat, but only managed to set off another bout of coughing. The coppery taste of blood blossomed in his mouth and he spit weakly. A large, warm clot landed on his chin.

The whimpering and the moaning continued. He wondered if he was moaning, too. He wasn't certain anymore.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

_Will. Will's at the Academy now. He'll be all right._

_I never believed in an afterlife. Death is death._

_Betty. Betty, are you waiting for me?_ After an eternity, the pain surrendered to the blackness, and he slid into oblivion.

"Kyle, can you hear me?"

For just a moment his confused mind thought it was Betty calling. Then his vision slowly came into focus and he saw who was speaking. Blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, a beautiful woman. He couldn't quite come up with a name.

"I'm Dr. Pulaski. Katherine Pulaski, remember? You're on the Bonestell."

The Bonestell. A ship. He was on a ship. "Starbase," he managed to whisper.

"Don't try to talk. Your lungs and throat have been burned. The Starbase was attacked by the Tholians. We came as soon as we could. You were lucky, we found you in a pocket formed when the structure collapsed on itself."

Despite her warning, he croaked, "Others?"

She hesitated. "Almost everyone was killed. We found three of you still alive. I'm afraid the woman died half an hour ago. The other probably isn't going to make it."

He closed his eyes.

"You must be very important," she went on. "Admiral Brennan has already arranged for you to be taken to the facilities at Adigeon Prime. She must have had to pull some strings, because they told me they were full when I contacted them."

He opened his eyes and found that she was smiling encouragingly.

"I wanted to contact your son, but Admiral Brennan said she didn't think you would want that. Don't speak, just blink once for yes. Do you want me to get in touch with your son?"

He stared at her, unblinking. _Don't tell Will. He's just getting started at the Academy. Don't ruin it for him._

"Really? You don't want him to know that you're hurt?"

He blinked once, squeezing his eyes tightly and swiftly.

"All right. We won't tell him. Don't be surprised if I ask you why later. You're going to need someone with you on Adigeon Prime, though, at least of a little while. If you don't want your son, I'd like to volunteer for the job unless you have someone else in mind. May I?"

He thought for a minute. _Ellen's out of the question. Marguerite? Sloan? Hardly. What a sorry life, Riker. No one you trust enough to let them see you helpless._ He blinked again, and she looked relieved.

"Good. Admiral Brennan arranged for me to get leave." She looked at him quizzically, a question in her eyes. "I never imagined the head of Intelligence would take such an interest in a civilian. I doubt you're her lover so you must be blackmailing her."

When he tried to smile, he felt a spasm of pain that seem to fly from his neck to his groin.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've given you as much pain medication as I dare. And I don't want to put you in stasis unless we absolutely have to. Can you put up with the pain?"

He blinked.

"I won't lie to you. It's going to be very bad. It's going to hurt more than anything has ever hurt in your life."

_No. Nothing could hurt like losing Betty._

"Once we get you to Adigeon and we get started with … the treatment, it will get better. But we're three days away. You're going to have to endure it if you want to live."

He managed to whisper. "Whatever. It Takes."

_Whatever it takes. I can do it._  
***

2365: Ten-Forward, USS Enterprise-D, in orbit above Starbase Montgomery

"And then there's Will."

"And then there's Will." Kate Pulaski looked at Kyle Riker with the serene expression that he had never been able to resist. Of all the women he had known in his life –and there had been many– she was the only one besides Betty who always seemed to have his interests at heart. Even Marguerite, sympathetic friend that she was, never convinced him that she was motivated by anything other than self-interest. "Why don't you tell him the truth?"

"I can't." Although he was doing his best not to show it, he was reeling from the events of the past hour. He had pulled every string at his disposal to get to Starbase Montgomery to give Will a special briefing on the mission of the _Aries_. His contacts had alerted him as soon as Will as selected for promotion; when he realized the danger and the distance involved in the mission he had arranged for this 12 hour layover. It might be his last chance for reconciliation with his son. But thus far Will had reacted with a hatred so cold it seemed impenetrable.

Kate shook her head. "Of course you can. Will's a grown man now, and a Starfleet officer. A very capable officer, I might add. If he hasn't heard rumors about Section 31, I'll eat my uniform."

Kyle looked around, making certain that no one had overheard her comment. "Be careful, Kate. You aren't supposed to know about that, remember." They had been very close during the time they spent together on Adigeon Prime; close enough that she had guessed he worked for Intelligence and he had finally told her the truth to keep her from digging into it further.

"Oh, tosh. If the Section thought I wasn't trustworthy, they'd have eliminated me years ago. And no one's listening to us now. They're going out of their way to give us some privacy." She smiled. "I'm still new enough to have them all intimidated."

He returned the smile. "They don't know what a softie you are, then."

"No, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't give me away yet. But don't change the subject on me. You've got less than 12 hours left. Give me one good reason why you can't tell Will the truth."

"Marty."

She blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Marguerite's lover. Marty is no longer among the living."

Kate considered him for a long moment. "And you think that S-"

"Watch it."

"You think certain colleagues were responsible?"

"Possibly. Or possibly someone figured out that Marguerite was doing more than taking notes all these years, and this was a form of revenge. It wasn't an accident, that's all I know."

"How's Marguerite?"

He looked away. "She's dead, too. She got careless on her first assignment after Marty's death. I don't think she wanted to live any more."

"Oh, God, Kyle." Kate reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "I'm so sorry. I know you were friends."

He shook off the sympathy. He didn't need it, and didn't need to revisit that particular pain. "Don't you see? I can't take a chance with Will. I have to protect him if I can."

"Even if it means he goes on hating you?"

"I hope it won't come to that. I hope he'll be man enough to forgive me without explanations."

"That's a lot to ask. I saw his eyes, Kyle. There was real pain there, and it was deep and old. That doesn't just vanish with a gesture."

He shrugged. "That's the chance I have to take. If he won't accept me, he won't."

She shook her head. "You're something else. I guess that's why I fell in love with you. You're the closest thing to the perfect knight I've come across. You'll fight the good fight without recognition, without accolade, and even without the love you deserve. Lancelot had nothing on you."

"God, Kate, stop it."

"No, I mean it. You know, I came to admire and respect you on Adigeon Prime when I watched you bear the most unthinkable pain with grace and dignity."

Her words conjured up memories of surgeries and cloning and transplants and weeks and weeks of torture called physical therapy, and her choice of words made him wince. "Don't ever use the words 'grace and dignity' to describe me. Couldn't you just say I never complained?"

She ignored him. "But it wasn't until I learned of your commitment to Section 31 that I fell in love with you. You have sacrificed everything that is important to most people for what – an abstract concept? The Charter?"

"The safety of the Federation," he said quietly.

"Your life could have been so different. You could have had entirely different relationships with your son and yes, with me." She looked down at her drink. "Despite what I said before, we'd have been happy together, Kyle."

"Yes." He spoke softly, with surety. "We would have been."

He said nothing more, and her eyes misted with unshed tears. "Now look what you've done. I don’t cry, you big lout. People get nervous when their doctor cries. You haven't changed, have you."

It wasn't a question and he didn't try to respond. "All I ever wanted was for Will to be his own man, and not tainted by the decisions I've made in my life."

"Whatever it takes," she murmured. "Isn't that the Riker family motto?"

He looked at her with genuine regret. "No. It's not."

Looking around again to make certain no one was listening, he added, "It's just the reality of Section 31."

-the end-

**Author's Note:**

> The TNG episode "Icarus Factor” introduced us to Will Riker's father and provided some back story, but it left gaps. When Section 31 was introduced during the run of Deep Space Nine, a lightbulb went off; it seemed obvious that Kyle Riker was a member of that shadowy and ethically questionable organization. Consider the last section of the story a missing scene from "Icarus Factor”. (This story was posted previously (around 2000-2001) with the title "Vignettes from the life of a Section 31 Agent" as part of the Section 31 project.)


End file.
